


Occam's Razor

by FrivolousSuits



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Not A Fix-It, Post-Episode: s7e16 Good-bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 00:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits
Summary: By Harvey's first count, seven entities whom he should have been able to trust backstabbed or blindsided him in the past few weeks. One or two cases he could have waved away, assigning the blame elsewhere. With seven, he had to consider Occam’s razor. He had to consider the possibility that the underlying problem washim.Alternatively:White roses fit funerals better than weddings. Harvey catches Rachel's bouquet.





	Occam's Razor

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [statusquo_ergo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo) for following me down the "v2 Harvey" black hole.
> 
> This fic now has [gorgeous art](https://frivoloussuits.tumblr.com/post/182669046970/fallingverses-one-phone-call-away-by-cmbing), thanks to [fallingverses](https://fallingverses.tumblr.com) on tumblr!

I

When Rachel flung the bouquet, the baseball reflexes kicked in, and Harvey caught it. As the crowd cheered and Mike winked suggestively at Donna, Harvey stared down, uncomprehending, at white roses.

* * *

Coming home, he nearly slammed the door behind him, but the noise this late would spook his neighbors. He opted for pressing the door shut, deliberately, quietly, the final click so silent even he could barely hear it. Opening a kitchen cabinet, he pulled down a vase, placed it on the counter and started searching for scissors.

He started the post-mortem examination, slicing open his memories of the past couple weeks and cataloguing the injuries.

  1. His old partners collectively trumped up a lawsuit against his firm to regain jobs at said firm.
  2. A stranger tracked him down and threatened him with creative violence. According to Vanessa, the stranger was a decorated cop.
  3. Paula accused him of unfaithfulness, secrecy, and general cruelty, never mind that he didn’t want Donna that way, or that Paula kept her own relevant history a secret until it was too late for him to fix anything.
  4. Donna kissed him, and hell with her “blurry lines” defense, he never asked for that.
  5. Scottie nearly ruined his firm by alleging professional damages, knowing full well that any damage she suffered from Pearson Darby Specter could surely be traced to the middle name.
  6. Jessica blindsided him in Chicago. Had he known about her aunt, he would have disclosed her tragic family story in his opening statement and had the whole courtroom in tears. Instead, he was now an accomplice to attempted bribery and suspended from the Illinois bar, because she trusted his legal skills too much and his friendship not at all.
  7. Mike.



Carefully, Harvey untied the bouquet’s delicate ribbon.

By his first count, seven entities whom he should have been able to trust backstabbed or blindsided him in the past few weeks. One or two cases he could have waved away, assigning the blame elsewhere.

With the scissors he cleanly snipped off the rose stems’ dried ends.

To diagnose the underlying illness, he had to consider Occam’s razor– with seven injuries, he was likely the main problem. He trusted too much. He cared too much. He’d gotten weak.

He staggered back against his refrigerator, holding his breath to stop the tears, grounding himself with the cold stainless steel.

At some point he forgot that others considered him the means to their ends, not an end in himself, and for once the Kantian jargon rang _true_. Other people cared about him insofar as he was useful to them. Paula dropped him once he could no longer convince her she wasn’t unlovable. Donna would drop him as soon as she realized he wasn’t her Prince Charming. Robert Zane’s betrayal was waiting just around the corner; his loyalty to the firm would leave with his daughter.

Then there was Mike.

If Mike had cared to ask, Harvey could have pulled together a viable counteroffer. He could have increased Mike’s pro bono caseload; he could find him hundreds of family law cases, immigration cases, civil rights cases that wouldn’t cause conflicts for the firm. Hell, corporate law firms loved to measure themselves by how many pro bono hours their lawyers did on average annually, and Harvey wasn’t above skewing the numbers by letting Mike spend even more of his time on pro bono work; then the firm might make the news for something other than a name change. Or maybe Harvey could have personally invested in Nathan’s clinic, and Mike could have transitioned back there. Hell, Harvey would have left this broken-down firm himself and started his own clinic, Specter-Ross, Ross-Specter, if only Mike had cared to ask.

Instead, Mike assumed Harvey would waive the non-compete to let him fight everything the firm stands for. He assumed Harvey would scramble to take care of his clients with next to no notice. He assumed Harvey would survive in this fresh wasteland, Zane Specter Litt, that he would survive it all alone, assuming he thought of Harvey at all.

Harvey filled the vase with cool water, arranged the roses inside, and placed it at the edge of his counter. They were all sitting here just nights ago– Rachel, Mike, Louis, Donna– in the warm glow of the fireplace, with their talk of loyalty and caring.

_(Even knowing how it all turned out I'd do it again.)_

_(Would he?)_

He briskly rubbed his cheeks dry, pulled out his phone, and asked his super to change his locks.

 

II

He traded managing partnership and his office for Specter Zane Litt. Robert thought it was his own idea, and Harvey didn’t care to correct him.

Free from real responsibility for the first time in seven years, he moved back into his old office, still cluttered with the junk Mike left– model bikes, toy cars, photographs. At the first opportunity he grabbed a box and threw things in, knocking a portrait of Mike and Rachel off the wall in the process. It didn’t crack.

In a matter of weeks he bluffed his way back to being the best closer in the city, yet at the same time he kept from crossing the ethical lines of his profession. No fraud, obviously. No witness tampering or insider trading. No forgery– really, was he so desperate to help Mike’s old judge that he considered that?

Without Mike, he was a better lawyer, quite possibly a better man.

In one month he billed over 350 hours, crushing his personal record– Louis’s too, and probably Jessica and Mike’s. Every morning he strolled in early and sat down to work, hurling himself into one matter after another, drowning the silence with his records, barely noticing when the sun set, when everyone else left. He personally took over most of Mike’s clients, and he took great pleasure in outdoing Mike’s service, in proving they would all survive just fine without him.

* * *

Work wasn’t his whole life, of course. He still knew how to enjoy himself– in the Maserati Quattroporte with a doe-eyed ballerina, in the Lamborghini Aventador with a blonde runway model, in the Tesla Model S with Ludicrous Mode on and a svelte young man beside him. He remembered all the cars, how they responded to his every command, leaping forward almost before he floored the gas.

He forgot all his one-night stands.

* * *

One of Mike’s old clients approached him about a waiver; Mike had requested the chance to sue one of the company’s spinoffs, despite the potential conflict of interest.

“I’ve suspected wrongdoing for months,” his client remarks. “I want him to go after them.”

“Even though he might use _your_ confidential information in the process?”

“He’s promised not to break privilege from his Specter Litt days, and I trust him–”

Harvey snorted. “Don’t. He’s jumped into Forsyth’s bed now.”

 

III

“Harvey, thanks for calling back.”

“Nikita–” Harvey spun around in his office chair, smirking– “I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“In eight years, since my predecessor fired your firm,” she replied pleasantly.

“And he swore he’d never come back, so what changed?”

“I need a win.”

“I’m your man.”

“You are. Not least because you have an unfair advantage.”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “You want something illegal, you get a different lawyer–”

“Not illegal, no. It’s just that opposing counsel has an intimidating reputation.”

“Who’s opposing counsel?”

“Michael Ross.”

His eyes snapped up.

“He’s got a solid case–”

“I’ll take it.”

“You can handle him?”

Harvey stood to look out at the Manhattan skyline, sky hidden by low-lying gray clouds. “It’ll be fun.”

* * *

Mike called him, bright and jovial, to request a settlement meeting. “I know how you love to settle.”

“Damn right I do,” he said, grin even brighter.

He waited by the elevators to greet Mike and the young, mousy woman representing the plaintiffs, and he took great pleasure in reintroducing Mike to the firm and joking about how he can’t possibly love Seattle as much as this place; the best thing to come out of Seattle was _Frasier_ , and who needs the Crane brothers when you could have Louis?

They kept the wisecracks up until they were on opposite sides of a glass-walled conference room and Harvey passed over his offer.

Mike’s smile vanished. “This better be another joke.”

Harvey turned his eyes to the lead plaintiff. “May 23rd, 2016.”

Mike frowned, trying and failing to place the date, but the plaintiff immediately paled.

“You didn’t tell Mike, did you?” Harvey remarked, leaning forward, still smiling. “They tell you to be honest with your lawyer, but I’d say it’s good that you weren’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shifted nervously in her seat.

“May 23rd, 2016, 1 A.M. PST on the third flo–”

“You can’t prove it,” she suddenly spat, “not in court.”

“I don’t care about court,” he replied, voice silk-smooth. “There’s one judge, jury and executioner I care about, and he’s sitting right next to you.” His smile widened, turning downright toothy. “You came to him because he loves a good cause, right? And right now you’re the best cause he knows. But the moment you leave this room, he’ll ask you what happened on May 23rd, and he’ll know if you lie to him. And you know what happens next?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Mike muttered, eyes darting back and forth between Harvey and his client. “He doesn’t know–”

“I know _him_ ,” Harvey spoke over Mike. “I was his boss for seven years. I know he throws his whole heart into fighting for _right_ , whatever he happens to think ‘right’ is at the moment. And once he knows what happened on May 23rd, he'll take over my job. Maybe it’s unprofessional, maybe it’s even unethical, but I assure you he’ll crush you for me.”

“That’s not a fair assessment,” Mike exclaimed. “Why would you think that?”

“Liam Coulson.”

“Liam was–” Mike faltered before trying again. “Liam had an exceptional case–”

“That.” Harvey jabbed a finger at Mike, his eyes still fixed on the plaintiff. “That is why you can’t trust him. The moment you aren’t the purest, worthiest cause in town, he will drop you. And it won’t even occur to him that he might be wrong.”

He fell silent, breathing too hard.

“Can I see the offer?” she murmured.

“Ana, no–” Mike pleaded.

“Give it to me.” She pulled the settlement letter out of Mike’s hands and scanned it.

Harvey held out a pen.

She signed.

* * *

“What was that, revenge?” Mike demanded once his client escaped to the bathroom, verging on tears.

“If I wanted revenge,” Harvey replied casually, “then I would have called up the Washington bar and tanked your application, or I would have called Forsyth, listed your many crimes that weren't in the news, and gotten your deal pulled, or I would have just wiped your firm from the face of the planet.”

Mike gave a disbelieving huff and left the room as well.

Harvey shouldn’t have been surprised.

* * *

When he came home that night, Mike was standing by the kitchen counter, backlit by firelight.

Emotionless, Harvey stared at him until he broke the silence. “You told your doorman not to let me up.”

“I did.”

“Before this case,” Mike ventured. “You told him so long ago he doesn’t even remember when.”

“I told him not to let anyone up. Yet here you are,” he added drily.

He turned away to set his briefcase down. Mike sighed before offering the olive branch. “Look. Even after what happened today, I still think you’re a good friend and a credit to the legal profession.”

The proper response was “You’re a good friend too.”

When Harvey stayed silent, busying himself by unpacking his briefcase, Mike’s hopeful smile guttered. “You know that one? _Frasier_?”

“I know,” he said absent-mindedly, flipping through his files.

“Come on, it’s not like we’re enemies now.’

Harvey glanced up and gave Mike a small, confused frown and a shake of his head. “We’re not anything.”

Mike’s features softened, and he tilted his head. “What happened?”

Harvey pushed down the urge to laugh, and he pushed away the briefcase, now meeting Mike’s stare, refusing to let him look away. “You left.”

“It was a good deal,” Mike replied at once, voice rising.

“I assumed so.”

“But you’re angry with me?”

“Of course not,” Harvey said neutrally, the words crisp and pressed, almost rehearsed. “It was a good deal.”

“Harvey–” Mike straightened up, brow darkening, “why are you throwing me out of your life?”

“You left.”

“ _Really?_ ” He let out an exasperated huff and then opened his mouth for a speech–

“You don’t remember?” Harvey cut him off, coloring the retort with the slightest sarcasm.

Mike slapped his hand on the counter, rattling the vase. “Goddammit, Harvey, we can’t go from best friends to nothing overnight.”

_(Without you, I’m nothing.)_

“I didn’t think so, no.”

“But–”

“Mike.” He held Mike’s gaze, reading the first four stages of grief in his eyes, jumbled with a wild hope. “I’ve given you up.”

In the ensuing silence, Mike’s eyes welled up, while Harvey’s expression remained empty and smooth as glass.

“I’m sorry,” Mike blurted. “It was a good deal, but I, I should have pushed the deadline, or I should have told you about it, I should have let you fix things at the firm first.”

“Maybe.” Harvey shrugged.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Mike repeated, his voice breaking.

Harvey didn’t care to answer.

“I’ll go.”

And there it was, the start of acceptance.

Harvey gave Mike a nod of acknowledgement as he left the apartment, but he didn’t follow him out or even watch him go. As Mike slammed the door shut behind him, Harvey simply looked at the flowers on his counter. He kept long-stemmed white roses now, sleek and elegant, if colorless.

 


End file.
